


Last Night

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Painter Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Merlin reaches a hand out but his hand stills just before the ceramic brushes his fingers. This mug has become the focal point of his life. A single, fixed point he can latch onto, cling to. Touching it might knock it from its perch, might break the spell





	Last Night

There is a single mug basking the the midday sun on the windowsill. There is always a mug tucked away there, halfway behind the twisted ivy and too close to the edge. The mug is cracked, chipped along the lip and only half a handle. There is an entire cupboard dedicated to cups chipped and bruised, all having had their moment on the windowsill, right above the sink.

Merlin reaches a hand out but his hand stills just before the ceramic brushes his fingers. This mug has become the focal point of his life. A single, fixed point he can latch onto, cling to. Touching it might knock it from its perch, might break the spell.

A hand curls against his neck, broad, and warm in a way that nothing else has been. He turns and Uther looks at him. Merlin is sure this is a  _ moment.  _ One of those life shattering, time stopping breaths where they communicate without words and suddenly understand each other. So he studies Uther’s eyes, does not focus on the shade of blue and he waits for truth to explode inside his mind.

Uther nods at him, claps him on the shoulder, and pulls away. Merlin does not know what truth he’s discovered, but he’s glad one of them found it. Uther slips back into the crowd. Merlin watches him get lost in the sea of faces he knows, but cannot place.

He’s supposed to be out there, to be speaking and mingling. Smiling. Maybe crying, he can’t quite remember. Gwen sweeps past him, hair a frizzy mess and mascara smudged beneath her eyes. Morgana stands still as stone in a corner, as breakable as glass, until Gwen stands beside her, takes her hand.

Merlin turns away, finds his way back to the windowsill.

\---

“Arthur!” Merlin hisses, sucks a finger into his mouth. From somewhere behind him he can hear wood clatter against tile, and he can only imagine the stains that will coat his wall. He turns around in time to see a sheepish Arthur peeking at him, red smear between his blue eyes.

“Yeah?”

Merlin holds up his bloody hand. “I’ve told you not to leave your mugs around! Scrooge knocked one over and now there’s glass in the drain.”

“Aw,” Arthur croons over him. He tucks a still wet brush behind his ear, and grips Merlin’s hand in his own. The lightbulb has been out for a week but there’s sunlight filtering in through the white-gauze curtains. Arthur drags Merlin back to the sink, turns it on, and shoves his hand beneath the freezing water. “What did you do, try to dig the glass out of the drain?”

Merlin scowls at him. “I tried to catch it before it all went down the drain.” But he can’t help smiling as Arthur’s laughter bubbles through the air. He hasn’t heard Arthur laugh in a while. A little broken glass, a little paint smear, is totally worth that music.

\---

Gwen corners him between the lemon bars and the ginger squares. Sometimes Merlin forgets how short she is. In other moments, like this, he’s stunned at how something so small can be so fierce.

“I’m taking Morgana home. This isn’t good for the baby.” Gwen waits. She looks like she’s expecting an answer. Certainly not permission. Merlin doesn’t reply though, he just picks up one of the delicate little china cups the maids must have put out.

They all look so pristine, white porcelain dipped in gold. Not one stained or cracked. Gwen sighs beside him. She steps in for a moment, curls against him as she wraps her arms around him. If he closes his eyes, he’s sixteen again, and they’re standing beneath a blue-corn moon, crickets the soundtrack to their adventures.

He lowers his face into her hair, but she smells like lilacs and tea, instead of earth and hay. There’s no sweat, no leftover heat radiating off her skin.

He wants to be fifteen again, just confessing to the girl he thought he loved, that she’d never be the one. Just hearing his first kiss confess  _ Me too, Merlin.  _ Gwen pulls away though and stars fade into chandeliers. She kisses his cheek, and then tugs her wife’s hand, leads a wide-eyed Morgana towards freedom.

Merlin sets the cup back on the tray, carefully, right in the center.

\---

Merlin is so proud of himself, this time, when he catches the mug right before it topples over. So proud, until the heat registers and he drops the mug anyway, silver ceramic and fresh tea splashing across the carpet, seeping into his socks.

Arthur comes thundering around the corner, hair dripping soap and towel clutched in one hand. “Merlin!”

Merlin rounds on him then, hand cradled against his chest, toes pruning in their cotton prisons. “Arthur you utter bastard! Who leaves a mug balanced on the fan?”

Arthur frowns at him, scratches through the suds in his fringe. “Well, how’d you turn the fan on and not see the mug balanced there?”

Merlin throws the remote at him, hits him square in the chest. “Your tea was on the back. I didn’t see it until it was already falling.”

Arthur gives him a sheepish look, offers Merlin the towel. Merlin tries to stay mad, tries not to let the wide-eyed innocence hoodwink him. Arthur’s slowly stalking towards him though, lips turned into a pout and head tilted so he’s staring up through his lashes. Merlin’s about to warn him, really and truly, when Arthur’s whole face contorts.

Merlin takes the towel, guides Arthur to the couch and gently plucks the remains of their best mug from Arthur’s foot. Arthur runs a hand through his hair and Merlin tilts his head so he can kiss his palm. He glances at Arthur, means to say something, but Arthur isn’t seeing him. Merlin sighs, keeps his lips to his palms, and wonders where he’s gone.

\---

Leon sets the vase to dry in the second sink and wipes the last of the crumbs into the trash. The air smells like wilting roses and baby's breath, suffocating Merlin. He’s trying not to choke, trying to suck air into his lungs, but his chest aches. He doesn’t realize he is sobbing until his knees hit the floor, until Leon is there beside him, cradling him.

He clings to the dress shirt, lets his tears soak it. Leon doesn’t try to offer him any false words, doesn’t lie to him about hope. He just holds his friend until the sun is a distant memory and the house as still, stale.

When Merlin has cried himself out Leon strokes through his dark hair. Scrooge comes up, the first time Merlin has seen him all day, and settles in his lap.

“Does it ever get better, Leon?”

Leon is quiet, thinking about Sophia. “No, but you do.”

\---

Leon knocks on the door and Merlin yanks the door open. Leon takes a step back and Merlin knows what he looks like. Knows the wild rims of his eyes, the turbulent volume of his hair. He yanks Leon in by his ridiculous tie. “Please, he’s been in there for days! He locked the door and won’t let me in.”

Leon’s cheeks are red with the cold and his lashes dusted with frost, but he doesn’t bother to shake off his coat before he’s marching past Merlin. “Where is the spare key?”

Merlin yanks a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, can’t find it. I’ve searched everywhere. Everywhere. Leon I haven’t heard him moving for hours and I don’t think he came out to eat yesterday at all.”

Leon nods as he stalks towards the bedroom. He rattles the handle, knocks. “Arthur? You in there mate?” He runs a hand along the door frame but comes up just as empty as Merlin had. He turns towards Merlin and mouths  _ Any clue? _

Merlin shakes his head and Leon frowns. He tucks his shoulder down, pushes hard against the door. Something on the other side rattles, falls, but otherwise it’s complete silence. Leon does it again, harder, and again.

Over and over he shoves at the door until wood begins to splinter along the sides. It doesn’t budge though, and Leon eventually slumps down, sweat dripping down his nose. “Merlin, think. Where would he have stuck the key?”

Merlin goes to snap at him, to tell him he doesn’t know, but then he has a though. He runs to the kitchen, to the cupboard. He isn’t careful as he yanks mugs down, doesn’t count the ones that break. There’s a small one in the back, ego-yolk yellow and decorated in child-painted balloons. Merlin grips it carefully. He closes his eyes, says a prayer to Arthur’s God, and then reaches in.

Leon slips the key into the hole. He hesitates for half a breath before pushing the door open. He lets out a breath Merlin can’t interpret, before stepping to the side. Merlin rushes in and tries not to crumble in relief.

Arthur is there, empty-eyed, in front of a blank canvas. There are several plates with half-eaten sandwiches and several mugs half-drunk.

“Are you mad, Arthur?”

Leon slips out as Merlin grips Arthur’s shoulders, shakes him hard.  “Did you not hear us?”

Arthur blinks at him. “I got distracted.” He goes to set the brush down and knocks days old tea onto his tarp. Neither of them notice as Merlin wraps himself around Arthur, rocks him as he sobs.

\----

Uther is the last to leave, even after Leon. Merlin’s home is clean. Perhaps cleaner than it has ever been. Uther stands before him. He doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as Merlin remembers him.

He looks, old. Fragile. For the first time  Merlin can see the lines in his face, the hunch of his shoulders. Merlin puts the kettle on and they both sit there in their own thoughts until it whistles. Starling them both.

Uther gets up, rummages for the herbal tea Arthur kept for him. He plucks two cups out of the drying sink.

The tea sits in front of them, cooling.

\---

Merlin taps his fingers against the table, catches the eye of an annoyed woman enjoying her soup, and begins to tap louder. Uther Pendragon is never late, unless being late serves him best.

And he’s decided making Merlin stew in a posh restaurant is the best.

When he finally slips in, he’s on the phone caught up in a clearly heated discussion. He sits down in front of Merlin, waves down a waiter, and using gestures only someone of his standing would know, orders for them.

Merlin bites his tongue and slips his hand into his lap and waits. Uther hangs up at about the time entrees arrive and he cuts into his quail as he ask, “So you’re going to marry him?”

Merlin chokes on the spear of asparagus he’d just swallowed. Uther continues to eat as Merlin regains control of himself. “Well, I was going to ask for your permission.”

Uther snorts. “My children have never needed my permission, Mr. Emerys.”

Merlin tries to hide his smile, but Uther catches it and gives him a small grin. “No, Mr. Pendragon. But Arthur respects you a great deal. He’d like to do this with your blessing. To have you in his corner.”

Uther nods. “And you’d like not to get caught up in a family war.”

Merlin shrugs, because there’s no denying the truth., They eat in silence for a long time, and Merlin figures that’s it. He’s done his best, but Uther will not relent.

The waiter comes to gather the check, and Merlin prepares to lay his card down, already grimacing at the price when Uther lays a broad hand over his. He hand the waiter his own card and pats Merlin’s hand. “I was going to give Arthur his mother’s ring to propose with. Perhaps I will save it for Morgana, as Arthur won’t be needing it.”

Merlin blinks at him, wide eyed. “So I can marry your son?”

Uther tries to look firm as he wipes a hand under his eye. “I’d be pleased if you did.”

\---

Morgana lets herself in a week later. Merlin had forgotten she had a key. She pulls him out of bed, shoves him into a shower. He soaks beneath the water until he is wrinkled, until he can’t breath for the cold in his lungs.

When he finally slips out, dressed in Arthur’s hoodie and the only clean sweats he had left, Morgana pulls him onto the couch. She settles into his lap and he strokes a hand over her swollen belly.

“How much longer?”

“Six weeks.”

He nods, as if time still has meaning.

“We’re going to name the baby Arthur. Girl or Boy.”

“We wanted to name a baby Penelope or Spencer.”

Morgana smiles at him. “I know, honey. And Gwen was so excited to carry it for you.”  She doesn’t ask him if he wants to try with Gwen. She knows the answer. They had a plan, the four of them. They were going to raise their kids together.

“I don’t know if I can be an Uncle without him, Morgana.”

She kisses his cheek. “You’re going to be a fantastic Uncle, Merlin. And you’ll make it through just fine.”

Neither of them admit they wish it was Arthur’s baby growing, instead of his.  

\---

He calls Morgana first. He knows he should call an ambulance, or maybe the police, but he calls Morgana first. She was the closest person on this planet to Arthur. The only one who could speak to him when he got into his moods.

She answers, and before Merlin can even exhale, she’s sobbing. “No, Merlin. Please, no.”

“I found him in the studio.” His voice sounds robotic, even to his own ears. He can hear Gwen speaking in the background, but he can’t make out her words. Morgana begins to wail and Merlin thinks he is supposed to offer some sort of comfort, but all he can do is stare at the mug cupped in Arthur’s stiff hand.

“Merlin. Merlin? Merlin! Are you still there?”

He nods and then remembers they cannot see him. “Yes.”

Gwen lets out a breath Merlin recognizes as the one she does right before executing a flawless plan. “You’re going to hang up, Merlin. And then you’re going to call Emergency Services. Then you’re going to go to the kitchen and set the kettle. You’ll make three cups of tea. Morgana and I should be there before anyone else.”

Merlin nods, this time not caring that she cannot see. He hangs up and turns away. He walks to the kitchen and gets out three mugs and sets the kettle, all while his mind is blank, quiet. He must make the call at some point. Morgana and Gwen show up moments before men and women burst into his apartment. They hold him as Arthur is lifted onto a gurney, is covered by a sheet, is wheeled out of their home.

Morgana cries the whole night. Gwen breaks in the early hours of the morning. They both hold Merlin in the bed he once shared with Arthur, waiting for the grief to hit him. He sips the cold tea from one of three glasses still sitting on the table.

\---

Merlin’s home is quiet, empty for the first time in weeks. He’s sitting at the kitchen table listening to the clock chime. Every inch of his home has been scrubbed. Everything smells like lemon cleaner and baby powder.

Nothing feels familiar, without the smell of acrylic mixing with herbal tea. There’s no brush against a canvas, no absent muttering. Scrooge slinks out of Arthur’s studio, sulks into Merlin’s lap. “I know boy,” Merlin whispers as he scratches through the silver fur.

Scrooge purrs in his lap for a while and if Merlin closes his eyes he can almost pretend it’s a normal night.

The last night, before his world ended, he’d sat here. Scrooge curled in his lap, a book opened on the table. Arthur had come in, eyes a-light as he’d shown Merlin his latest work. Merlin can’t remember what it was, isn’t sure where the painting had ended up.

He should look for it tomorrow.

Scrooge leaps off his lap and saunters off to wherever he hides and Merlin goes to wash his hands in a sink. There’s a mug on the windowsill, old tea spoiling within. Merlin’s whole world shrinks to encompass the red cup, half handled and chipped along the rim.

He picks it up and pours the contents down the drain. The water runs warm and he pours too much soap in and just lets the suds build. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry. He just watches the suds build until they’re about to overflow.

He thinks,  _ This might be the last cup Arthur ever used.  _ Logically, he knows it’s probably not. That it had probably sat out for days before Arthur locked himself in his studio. But it soothes something in Merlin to think he is holding a piece of Arthur’s last night.  

He finishes rinsing it out. Lets the suds dissolve in the sink. He places the cup back on it’s precarious perch, right at the edge of the windowsill. Scrooge follows him to bed, curls up on Arthur’s pillow.

“I miss him too, Scrooge.”

  
  



End file.
